


Lace Up

by IAmANonnieMouse



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Clothes Kink, M/M, Porn With Plot, Power Dynamics, Seriously there's plot, that's it that's the fic, there might not be porn though ymmv
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:36:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29639604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/pseuds/IAmANonnieMouse
Summary: Arthur clutches two fistfuls of Eames’ suit and says, “What kind of an asshole wears a fucking bespoke suit to a club?”His voice is already breathless on the edges. He ignores it.“You bought me this suit,” Eames counters, leaning in to nip at the hinge of Arthur’s jaw. “I’m wearingyourclothes, darling. And you”—he licks a line up Arthur’s throat—“are so fucking sexy in mine.”
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 52





	Lace Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FinelyDressedSpacemen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FinelyDressedSpacemen/gifts).



> [FinelyDressedSpacemen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FinelyDressedSpacemen/pseuds/FinelyDressedSpacemen) mentioned in [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29323911/chapters/72017574) that Arthur and Eames dressed like each other in the first level of the Fischer job (Arthur in leather jacket, etc, and Eames in a suit) and that gave me THOUGHTS and FEELINGS, so I sat down to start writing a fic about Arthur and Eames and their clothes/dress style over the years. It was going to be some sort of meta fic about them growing together, and it was gonna be GREAT. And then I started to write it. And it turned into...this.
> 
> So, uh. Yeah.
> 
> Anyway, shoutout to my mouse spouse [storm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storm_of_sharp_things) for cheering me on as I sent her ~~snippets~~ entire segments of this fic as I was writing it.  
> Shoutout to my other mouse spouse [dei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deinvati) for sending me links to corset vests and DISTRACTING me.  
> And shoutout to my other-other mouse spouse [flos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flosculatory) ~~because I didn't want you to feel left out okay~~ for helping me with my tags :finger_guns:

*

The brick is digging into Arthur’s back, easily scraping through his thin t-shirt, but he can’t bring himself to care when Eames is the one pressing him against it, sliding a thigh covered in bespoke, pressed silk between Arthur’s legs and dragging his lips across the sensitive skin on Arthur’s throat.

Arthur clutches two fistfuls of Eames’ suit and says, “What kind of an asshole wears a fucking bespoke suit to a club?”

His voice is already breathless on the edges. He ignores it.

“You bought me this suit,” Eames counters, leaning in to nip at the hinge of Arthur’s jaw. “I’m wearing _your_ clothes, darling. And you”—he licks a line up Arthur’s throat—“are so fucking sexy in mine.”

One of Eames’ hands slips down Arthur’s back, teasing fingers dipping just below the waistband of the skin-tight ripped jeans Arthur squeezed himself into before hitting the club tonight. And yes, maybe they are jeans that Eames bought for him, and maybe Arthur was thinking of Eames while he pulled them on, but those are not things Arthur’s willing to admit at this moment, with Eames’ thigh rubbing up between his legs and Eames’ mouth trailing across his throat and Eames’ hand drifting lower with every second.

Arthur angles his head away from Eames’ mouth long enough to wrap a hand around Eames’ hideous tie and pull. “This isn’t what I bought with that suit.”

Eames hums and hitches one of Arthur’s legs up around his waist. “You don’t like it?”

“I like the one I chose.”

“Mhm.” Eames leans in closer, lets the weight and sheer breadth of his body pin Arthur to the rough brick. He latches onto the side of Arthur’s throat and steadily sucks a bruise onto the skin, ignoring Arthur’s sounds. “I packed you something,” he murmurs when he’s done, gently licking the tender spot. “Wear it for me tomorrow.”

Arthur lets his eyes drift shut for a single, precious second. “Only if you change your fucking tie. And stop walking into my briefings twenty minutes late.”

Eames kisses his cheek so lightly Arthur could think he dreamt it. “I suppose, darling. Since you’re making it worth my while.”

Arthur doesn’t feel the exact moment Eames slips the keycard into his pocket. He just knows that, later, when he stumbles back to his hotel room alone, a little tipsy and a lot horny, there’s an extra card in his pants, and it belongs to a different hotel.

There’s something almost frighteningly domestic about that. In their line of work, it feels as intimate as exchanging house keys.

Arthur tosses the keycard on the nightstand and focuses on peeling himself out of his jeans. _Eames’ jeans,_ his mind whispers in a teasing, British accent.

“Whatever,” Arthur mutters, falling onto the bed. He’ll worry about all of that much, much later.

*

In the morning, Arthur arrives at the warehouse in a rich, purple suit, the perfect complement to the cream suit he bought Eames six months ago—the same one Eames was wearing last night when he pressed Arthur up against an alley wall.

The bruise on Arthur’s skin throbs subtly, safely hidden under his collar and tie.

Eames, of course, arrives twenty-five minutes late and saunters in with Starbucks, just as an extra fuck you.

But Arthur can’t help but notice, as he talks the team through the logistics of their newest mark, that Eames has changed his tie.

*

They first met when Arthur was working as Dom and Mal’s research assistant, wearing old sweatshirts and threadbare jeans almost every day of the week because research was interesting but barely paid the bills.

Eames was the flashy man with a crooked smile who met with the Cobbs weekly and never forgot to bring a muffin for Arthur to eat. When Eames started arriving earlier every week just to perch on the edge of Arthur’s desk and talk, Arthur generously pretended not to notice.

“They work you too hard,” Eames said one afternoon, gently nudging a pile of paperwork to the side so he could sit.

“No such thing,” Arthur mumbled around his mouthful of muffin. He nodded at Eames’ double-breasted suit. “The herringbone’s an interesting choice, considering the cut.”

Eames raised a hand to his waistcoat almost protectively. “I’m rather fond of this suit, Arthur. I’d appreciate it if you kept your complaints to yourself.”

“It wasn’t a complaint. It’s an interesting fashion choice, that’s all.”

Eames eyed his tattered Pink Floyd sweatshirt and arched his brows. “As is that.”

“Look, just because Cobb doesn’t pay well doesn’t mean I don’t have a good sense of style.”

Eames blinked. “That had too many negatives in it. Good god.” He straightened and ran a hand through his tie. “But I think I got the gist of it. And my response is: if you’re so confident in your skills, then show me.”

Arthur frowned. “Show you?”

Eames hummed. “I’m free as soon as this meeting ends. What say we go shopping together? My treat.”

Arthur knew better than to turn down someone else’s money. So three hours later, they walked into a store that was several tax brackets outside of Arthur’s current spending habits. Eames stopped in the middle of the sales floor, slid his hands into his perfectly-pressed pockets, and said, “Alright, darling. Show me what you got.”

They had their first kiss in the dressing room barely an hour later, Eames gently cupping Arthur’s cheeks in his hands after Arthur half-jokingly said, “Don’t ruin the suit, okay?”

Eames bought Arthur three suits that day. And one week later, Arthur carefully dressed himself in the nicest one, smiling as he knotted the tie. 

When Eames arrived, he all but dragged Arthur across his desk, knocking reams of paper to the ground as he pulled Arthur into a hungry kiss. He went into his meeting with a glint in his eye, and on his way out the door, he stopped at Arthur’s side. “Take off your tie, pet.”

Arthur arched a brow and slowly undid his tie, watching Eames do the same to his own. Eames gently flicked a finger under Arthur’s chin and Arthur lifted his head with a smirk. 

Ten minutes later, Eames walked out of the research lab wearing Arthur’s tie and a razor sharp smile. And back in the research lab, Arthur flicked the edges of Eames’ tie against his chin, laughing at the silky feel.

He couldn’t even be annoyed that he had to reorganize all his files that day. It was worth it.

*

Later that night, long after the rest of the team has left the warehouse, Arthur puts away the bulk of his research and shrugs into his coat. There’s still plenty to be done, especially because their mark is a suspicious, paranoid son of a bitch, but that, Arthur has decided, is a problem for Future Arthur.

Current Arthur has an Englishman to torture.

He lets himself into his empty hotel room and immediately heads for the smaller suitcase tucked in the corner of the room.

There’s a small lock on it that he knows Eames can pick in seconds. But he knows Eames hasn’t touched it. It’s not their way.

As he pulls out the vest he packed specifically for this trip, he thinks about what a shame it is that things have to go this way. In other circumstances, he and Eames could have a lot of fun with this.

He shrugs out of the suit jacket Eames chose for him and carefully unbuttons the vest. It only takes him a few minutes to pull on the new vest, fingers nimble on the lacing. Then, he pulls the suit jacket back on, swipes Eames’ keycard off the nightstand, and leaves.

*

When Arthur lets himself into Eames’ room, he’s met with the sight of Eames sprawled on the bed, tie loosened and vest unbuttoned.

“I thought I was going to have to wait all night,” he drawls, voice curling over the words. 

Arthur arches a brow and shrugs out of his coat, turning away to hang it in the closet just to make Eames wait a little longer.

“Arthur,” Eames practically purrs. He comes up behind Arthur and rests his hands at Arthur’s hips with an edge of possessiveness Arthur probably shouldn’t love as much as he does. “I know I didn’t pack that vest with the suit.”

“You were late today,” Arthur says, stepping back so he can shut the closet door. Eames moves with him, still gripping Arthur’s hips. 

“I changed the tie,” Eames counters. His lips brush the edge of Arthur’s ear. “Are you purposefully trying to rile me up, darling?”

The vest is just constrictive enough to make Arthur’s form sloppy, but the maneuver still does the trick, and Eames hits the ground with a satisfying thud. Arthur’s straddling his waist in seconds, pinning his hands above his head.

He leans in and lets his lips curl into a sharp smile. “We haven’t even started.”

He tightens his grip on Eames’ wrists just enough to make a point, then straightens, shrugging out of his suit jacket and letting it fall to the floor. 

“This,” he says, running his hands down the sides of his vest, “is a corset, Mr. Eames.”

The sudden heat that fills Eames’ eyes is like a gut punch in only the best ways. Arthur turns slowly, rolling his hips enough to tease them both, until he’s sitting with his back to Eames, the full lacing of his corset on display.

“Fuck, darling,” Eames gasps, hips twitching. He could easily move right now, could throw Arthur off and pin him against the nearest surface, but that isn’t how this works between them. 

“I had planned this as a present,” Arthur says, arching his back. “I couldn’t wait for you to sink your fingers into the lacing, drag me across the room. Grip it as you fucked me.”

Eames’ hips surge upward before he can stop himself, and Arthur smirks, leaning forward to rest his hands on Eames’ thighs.

“But you were late today, Eames. Twenty-five fucking minutes. And I distinctly remember us talking about punctuality last night. So you can look tonight. Look as much as you want. But you don’t get to touch.”

Eames groans. “Fuck,” he whispers. “You bloody fucking tease.”

Arthur turns again and leans down over Eames’ chest, brushing their lips together gently. Softly. “So, tell me,” he says, reaching up to undo his tie, “will you be late to my briefing tomorrow?”

*

In the morning, Arthur opens the closet in Eames’ hotel room and stands there for a moment, considering.

“The red one,” Eames says, voice still rough with sleep. “For me, darling?”

Arthur smiles. “With the grey vest?”

There’s a rustle of sheets, then Eames is pressed against his back, leaning heavily as he nuzzles Arthur’s throat. “With the corset,” he murmurs. 

Arthur hums and tilts his head to the side to give Eames more access. “I don’t know. Do you deserve that?”

Eames drags his tongue up Arthur’s throat and nips at his ear. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Arthur pulls on the red shirt, knots his tie, then reaches for the corset. He fastens the front then turns to give Eames his back.

“Lace me up?” he asks, playing at coy.

Eames growls and pulls him closer. “I’m going to be thinking about this all fucking day.” He laces the corset, kissing the nape of Arthur’s neck. “You said this was going to a present,” he murmurs. “What was the occasion, petal?”

Arthur leans back, letting Eames support his weight. “Four years ago today, you took me shopping and kissed me in the dressing room.”

Eames wraps his arms around Arthur, hugging him tightly. “Best decision of my life.”

Arthur smiles and closes his eyes, enjoying the quiet between them. Then, Eames shifts and says, “So where does one purchase these corset vests? Because someone has a birthday coming up very soon, if I recall correctly.”

Arthur smirks and gently pulls out of Eames’ arms. “I’ll tell you tonight,” he says, “as long as you aren’t late to my fucking briefing.”

*

**Author's Note:**

> If any of you would like to fall down the rabbit hole of gorgeous corset vests, [Innova Corsetry](https://innovacorsetry.com/products/corset-vest) has AMAZING designs. They have a tiktok, an Instagram... plenty of inspiration for any who want it :D


End file.
